The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “Tell me of them,” Gawyn said urgently.

  “Shrouded in the night,” Marille said, “sent by the Empress’s will—may she live forever—to strike down her foes and die in—”

  “Yes, yes,” Gawyn said. “You said that already. What methods do they use? How do they hide so well? What do you know of how this assassin will strike?”

  Marille shrank down farther at each question, and began to whimper.

  “Lord Trakand!” Dimana said. “Contain yourself.”

  “Marille doesn’t know very much,” the damane said. “Marille is sorry. Please, punish her for not listening better.”

  Gawyn pulled back. The Seanchan treated their damane worse than animals. Marille wouldn’t have been told anything specific of what these Bloodknives could do. “Where did you get these damane?” Gawyn asked. “Were any Seanchan soldiers captured? I need to speak with one; an officer, preferably.”

  Dimana pursed her lips. “These were taken in Altara, and only the damane were sent to us.”

  “Dimana,” the other woman said. She didn’t have a Seanchan accent. “What of the sul’dam? Kaisea was of the low Blood.”

  Dimana frowned. “Kaisea is…unreliable.”

  “Please,” Gawyn said. “This could save lives.”

  “Very well,” Dimana said. “Wait here. I will return with her.” She took her two charges toward the palace, leaving Gawyn to wait anxiously. A few minutes later, Dimana returned, followed by a tall woman wearing a pale gray dress without belt or embroidery. Her long black hair was woven into a braid, and she seemed determined to remain precisely one step behind Dimana—an action that bothered the Kinswoman, who seemed to be trying to keep an eye on the woman.

  They reached Gawyn, and the sul’dam—incredibly—got down on her knees and prostrated herself on the ground, head touching the dirt. There was a smooth elegance to the bowing; for some reason, it made Gawyn feel as if he were being mocked.

  “Lord Trakand,” Dimana said, “this is Kaisea. Or, at least, that’s what she insists that we call her now.”

  “Kaisea is a good servant,” the woman said evenly.

  “Stand up,” Gawyn said. “What are you doing?”

  “Kaisea has been told you are the Queen’s brother; you are of the Blood of this realm, and I am a lowly damane.”

  “Damane? You’re a sul’dam.”

  “No longer,” the woman said. “I must be collared, great Lord. Will you see it done? Kaisea is dangerous.”

  Dimana nodded to the side, indicating they should speak privately. Gawyn withdrew with her farther down the Rose March, leaving Kaisea prostrate on the ground.

  “She’s a sul’dam?” Gawyn asked. “Or is she a damane?”

  “All sul’dam can be trained to channel,” Dimana explained. “Elayne thinks that fact will undermine their entire culture once revealed, so she’s had us focus on teaching the sul’dam to access their powers. Many refuse to admit that they can see the weaves, but a few have been honest with us. To a woman, they’ve insisted that they should be made damane.”

  She nodded back toward Kaisea. “This one is most troubling. We think she’s intentionally working to learn the weaves so that she can create an ‘accident,’ and use our own reasoning against us—if she does something violent with the One Power, she can claim that we were wrong to leave her free.”

  A woman who could be trained to kill with the One Power, who was not bound by the Three Oaths, and who had a determination to prove that she was dangerous? Gawyn shivered.

  “We keep some forkroot in her most days,” Dimana said. “I don’t tell you this to worry you, but to warn you that what she says and does may not be reliable.”

  Gawyn nodded. “Thank you.”

  Dimana led him back, and the sul’dam remained on the ground. “How may Kaisea serve you, great Lord?” Her actions seemed a parody of Marille’s subservience. What Gawyn had originally taken for mockery wasn’t that at all—instead, it was the imperfect efforts of one who was highborn to imitate the lowly.

  “Have you ever seen one of these before?” Gawyn asked casually, taking out the Bloodknife.

  Kaisea gasped. “Where did you find that? Who gave it to you?” She cringed almost immediately, as if realizing that she’d stepped out of her assumed role.

  “An assassin tried to kill me with it,” Gawyn said. “We fought, and he got away.”

  “That is impossible, great Lord,” the Seanchan woman said, her voice more controlled.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because if you had fought one of the Bloodknives, great Lord, you would be dead. They are the most expert killers in all of the Empire. They fight the most ruthlessly, because they are already dead.”

  “Suicide troops.” Gawyn nodded. “Do you have any information about them?”

  Kaisea’s face grew conflicted.

  “If I see you leashed?” Gawyn asked. “Will you answer me then?”

  “My Lord!” Dimana said. “The Queen would never allow it!”

  “I’ll ask her,” Gawyn said. “I can’t promise that you’ll be leashed, Kaisea, but I can promise I’ll intercede with the Queen for you.”

  “You are powerful and strong, great Lord,” Kaisea said. “And wise indeed. If you will do this thing, Kaisea will answer you.”

  Dimana glared at Gawyn.

  “Speak,” Gawyn said to the sul’dam.

  “Bloodknives do not live long,” Kaisea said. “Once they are given a duty, they do not rest from it. They are granted abilities from the Empress, may she live forever, ter’angreal rings that make them into great warriors.”

  “Those blur their forms,” Gawyn said. “When they are near shadow.”

  “Yes,” Kaisea said, sounding surprised that he knew this. “They cannot be defeated. But eventually, their own blood will kill them.”

  “Their own blood?”

  “They are poisoned by their service. Once they are given a charge, they often will not last more than a few weeks. At most, they survive a month.”

  Gawyn held up the knife, disturbed. “So we only need to wait them out.”

  Kaisea laughed. “That will not happen. Before they die, they will see their duty fulfilled.”

  “This one is killing people slowly,” Gawyn said. “One every few days. A handful so far.”

  “Tests,” Kaisea said. “Prodding for weaknesses and strengths, learning where they can strike without being seen. If only a few are dead, then you have not yet seen the full power of the Bloodknife. They do not leave a ‘handful’ of dead, but dozens.”

  “Unless I stop him,” Gawyn said. “What are his weaknesses?”

  Kaisea laughed again. “Weaknesses? Great Lord, did I not say that they are the finest warriors in Seanchan, enhanced and aided by the Empress’s favor, may she live forever?”

  “Fine. What about the ter’angreal, then? It helps the assassin when he is in shadow? How can I stop it from working? Perhaps light a large number of torches?”

  “You cannot have light without shadow, great Lord,” the woman said. “Create more light, and you will create more shadows.”

  “There has to be a way.”

  “Kaisea is certain that if there is one, great Lord, you will find it.” The woman’s response had a smug tone to it. “If Kaisea may suggest, great Lord? Count yourself fortunate to have survived fighting a Bloodknife. You must not have been his or her true target. It would be prudent to hide yourself until a month has passed. Allow the Empress—may she live forever—to accomplish her will, and bless the omens that you were given warning enough to escape and live.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Dimana said. “I trust you have what you wish, Lord Trakand?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Gawyn said, disturbed. He barely noticed as Kaisea rose and the Kinswoman led her charge away.

  Count yourself fortunate to have survived…you must not truly have been his target…

  Gawyn tested the throwing knife in his hands. The ta
rget was Egwene, obviously. Why else would the Seanchan expend such a powerful weapon? Perhaps they thought her death would bring down the White Tower.

  Egwene had to be warned. If it made her angry at him, if it flew in the face of what she wanted, he had to bring her this information. It could save her life.

  He was still standing there—considering how to approach Egwene—when a servant in red and white found him. She carried a plate with a sealed envelope on it. “My Lord Gawyn?”

  “What’s this?” Gawyn asked, taking the letter and using the Bloodknife to cut it open along the top.

  “From Tar Valon,” the servant said, bowing. “It came through a gateway.”

  Gawyn unfolded the thick sheet of paper inside. He recognized Silviana’s script.

  Gawyn Trakand, it read. The Amyrlin was thoroughly displeased to discover your departure. You were never instructed to leave the city. She has asked me to send this missive, explaining that you have been given ample time to idle in Caemlyn. Your presence is required in Tar Valon, and you are to return with all haste.

  Gawyn read the letter, then read it again. Egwene screamed at him for disturbing her plans, all but threw him out of the Tower, and she was displeased to discover he’d left the city? What did she expect him to do? He almost laughed.

  “My Lord?” the servant asked. “Would you like to send a reply?” There was paper and pen on the tray. “They implied that one would be expected.”

  “Send her this,” Gawyn said, tossing the Bloodknife onto the tray. He felt so angry, suddenly, and all thoughts of returning fled his mind. Flaming woman!

  “And tell her,” he added after a moment’s thought, “that the assassin is Seanchan, and carries a special ter’angreal that makes him difficult to see in shadows. Best to keep extra lights burning. The other murders were tests to gauge our defenses. She is the true target. Emphasize that the assassin is very, very dangerous—but not the person she thought it was. If she needs proof, she can come talk to some of the Seanchan here in Caemlyn.”

  The servant looked perplexed, but when he said nothing further, the woman retreated.

  He tried to cool his rage. He wouldn’t go back, not now. Not when it would look as if he’d come crawling back at her command. She had her “careful plans and traps.” She had said she didn’t need him. She would have to do without him for a while, then.

  Chapter 34

  Judgment

  “I want the scouts out watching,” Perrin said forcefully. “Even during the trial.”

  “The Maidens won’t like this, Perrin Aybara,” Sulin said. “Not if it makes them miss the chance to dance the spears.”

  “They’ll do it anyway,” Perrin said, walking through camp, Dannil and Gaul at his side. Behind followed Azi and Wil al’Seen, his two guards for the day.

  Sulin inspected Perrin, then nodded. “It will be done.” She moved off.

  “Lord Perrin,” Dannil asked, smelling nervous. “What’s this about?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Perrin said. “Something’s wrong on the wind.”

  Dannil frowned, looking confused. Well, Perrin was confused, too. Confused and increasingly certain. It seemed a contradiction, but it was true.

  The camp was busy, his armies gathering to meet the Whitecloaks. Not his army, his armies. There was so much division among them. Arganda and Gallenne jostling one another for position, the Two Rivers men resenting the newer bands of mercenaries, the former refugees mashed between them all. And, of course, the Aiel, aloof and doing as they wished.

  I’m going to disband them, Perrin told himself. What does it matter? It bothered him nonetheless. It was a disorderly way to run a camp.

  Anyway, Perrin’s people had mostly recovered from this latest bubble of evil. None of them would probably look at their weapons again the same way, but the wounded had been Healed and the channelers were rested. The Whitecloaks had not been pleased at the delay, which had extended longer than they had probably expected. But Perrin had needed the time, for a number of reasons.

  “Dannil,” he said. “My wife has you mixed up in her plots to protect me, I assume.”

  Dannil started. “How—”

  “She needs her secrets,” Perrin said. “I miss half of them, but this one was as plain as day. She’s not happy about this trial. What’s she got you doing? Some plan with the Asha’man to get me out of danger?”

  “Something like that, my Lord,” Dannil admitted.

  “I’ll go, if it turns bad,” Perrin said. “But don’t jump to it too early. I won’t have this turn into a bloodbath because one of the Whitecloaks lets out a curse at the wrong time. Wait for my signal. Understood?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Dannil said, smelling sheepish.

  Perrin needed to be done with this. Free of it. Now. Because, over these last few days, it had begun to feel natural to him. I’m just a… He trailed off. Just a what? A blacksmith? Could he say that anymore? What was he?

  Up ahead, Neald sat on a stump near the Traveling ground. During the last few days, the youthful Asha’man soldier and Gaul had scouted out in several directions at Perrin’s orders, to see if gateways worked if one got far enough away from camp. Sure enough, it turned out they did, though one had to go for hours to escape the effect.

  Neither Neald nor Gaul had noted any sort of change other than the weave for gateways working again. There was no barrier or visible indication on this side, but if Perrin guessed right, the area where gateways didn’t work matched exactly the area covered by the dome in the wolf dream.

  That was the dome’s purpose, and that was why Slayer guarded it. It wasn’t about hunting the wolves, though he surely did that with pleasure. Something was causing both the dome and the problems with the Asha’man.

  “Neald,” Perrin said, walking up to the Asha’man. “Latest scouting mission went well?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “When Grady and you were first telling me about the failing weaves, you said it had happened to you before. When was that?”

  “When we tried to open the gateway to retrieve the scouting group from Cairhien,” Neald said. “We tried at first and the weaves fell apart. But we waited a little while and tried again. That time it worked.”

  That was just after the first night I saw the dome, Perrin thought. It came up for a short time, then vanished. Slayer must have been testing it.

  “My Lord,” Neald said, stepping close. He was a fop of a man, but he’d been reliable when Perrin needed him. “What’s going on?”

  “I think someone’s setting a trap for us,” Perrin said softly. “Boxing us in. I’ve sent some others out to look for the thing causing this; it’s probably some kind of object of the One Power.” He worried that it might be hidden in the wolf dream. Could something there produce an effect in the real world? “Now, you’re sure you can’t create gateways at all? Not even to other points nearby, inside the affected area?”

  Neald shook his head.

  The rules are different on this side, then, Perrin thought. Or, at least, it works differently on Traveling than it does on shifting in the wolf dream. “Neald, you said with the larger gateways—using a circle—you could move the entire army through in a few hours?”

  Neald nodded. “We’ve been practicing.”

  “We need to be ready for that,” Perrin said, looking at the sky. He could still smell that oddity in the air. A faint staleness.

  “My Lord,” Neald said. “We’ll be ready, but if we can’t create gateways, then it doesn’t matter. We could march the army out to that point beyond the effect, though, and escape from there.”

  Unfortunately, Perrin suspected that wouldn’t do. Hopper had called this a thing of the deep past. That meant there was a good chance Slayer was working with the Forsaken. Or he was one of the Forsaken himself. Perrin had never considered that. Either way, the ones planning this trap would be watching. If his army tried to escape, the enemy would spring its trap or they’d move the dome.

  T
he Forsaken had been fooling the Shaido with those boxes and had placed them here. And there was his picture, being distributed. Was it all part of this trap, whatever it was? Dangers. So many dangers hunting him.

  Well, what did you expect, he thought. It’s Tarmon Gai’don.

  “I wish Elyas would return,” he said. He’d sent the man on a special scouting mission of his own. “Just be ready, Neald. Dannil, it’d be best if you’d go pass my cautions on to your men. I don’t want any accidents.”

  Dannil and Neald went their separate ways, and Perrin walked to the horse pickets to find Stepper. Gaul, quiet as the wind, fell in beside him.

  Someone’s pulling a snare tight, Perrin thought, slowly, inch by inch, around my leg. Probably waiting for him to fight the Whitecloaks. Afterward, his army would be weakened and wounded. Easy pickings. It gave him a chill to realize that if he’d gone to battle with Damodred earlier, the trap might have been sprung right then. The trial suddenly took on enormous import.

  Perrin had to find a way to forestall a battle until he could get to the wolf dream one more time. In it, perhaps he could find a way to destroy the dome and free his people.

  “You change, Perrin Aybara,” Gaul said.

  “What’s that?” Perrin said, taking Stepper from a groom.

  “This is a good thing,” Gaul replied. “It is good to see you stop protesting about being chief. It is better to see you enjoy command.”

  “I’ve stopped protesting because I have better things to do,” Perrin said. “And I don’t enjoy being in command. I do it because I have to.”

  Gaul nodded, as if he thought Perrin were agreeing with him.

  Aiel. Perrin swung into the saddle. “Let’s go on, then. The column is starting to march.”

  “Off with you,” Faile said to Aravine. “The army is moving out.”

  Aravine curtsied and moved to pass the orders to the refugees. Faile wasn’t certain what this day would bring, but she wanted those who stayed behind to break camp and be ready to march, just in case.

  As Aravine left, Faile noticed Aldin the bookkeeper joining her. He did seem to be visiting Aravine quite often lately. Perhaps he’d finally given up on Arrela.